Meanwhile
by Name Pen
Summary: This story focuses on the things Father Gomez was seeing and doing while everyone's attention was directed someplace else. I don't remember if his daemon had a name in the book, but I made one up for this story. R&R!


A/N: (this is an update, in response to some reviews I got) You people are SOOO nice to me in your reviews, and I did work hard on this, but I tried to go on, and it just... um, didn't work. When I started writing this it wasn't meant to be a multi-chapter thing and, yeah, I just can't get on a roll with this, and I don't know how I would make this into an actual story. It's just a little more about Father Gomez in Cittagazze, and nothing else. So, sorry, but I'm not continuing with this one. I have been working particularly hard on an HP fic so if you feel like reading it... :D Anyway, I don't want to make this author's not longer than the actual story, so BYE!  
  
Father Gomez strolled through the abandoned streets of Cittagazze, his beetle daemon Leptaria stirring in his pocket. The city was clearly very old, and he could see that it once was beautiful, but all he felt at the moment was discust at the unkept streets and sour stench of food rotting behind the many open windows. He wondered how long the city had been empty.  
  
Suddenly, the young priest felt distinctly as though he were being watched. He spun around, in time to catch a tiny flash of movement as someone small ducked behind a crumbling statue. A child. There was a child lost in the city. He knew he must rescue the child, and he started forward. A thought struck him. Suppose this was Lyra, suppose this was the very child he would have to kill. He bit his lip. To rescue someone, only to drown them the very next day almost seemed like a waste of a life. But he knew he was saving the Church, and all of humanity from Dust, and the evil sin the girl would commit otherwise. He paused to cross himself and continued forward.  
  
Upon stepping behind the cracked stone base, Gomez, fully expecting to see a starving child cowering in the shadow, found nothing. He searched the streets suspiciously. Nothing. But as he peered into a third-story window, he spied two pairs of small eyes twinkling at him from the darkness. They quickly disapeared, but the human presence in the square seemed to know it had been detected, and hiding had become useless.  
  
From all around him, Gomez heard shreiks and cries of utter disdain. Feral children leapt out at him from alleys, baring their small teeth menacingly. Father Gomez almost fainted, he was so shocked by the appearence of these children. They had no daemons. And yet they looked fully alive, their rosy skin glowing freshly over thin faces. "No daemons," he whispered hoarsly to Leptaria, who was hidden in his pocket. "They have... no daemons." He had been expecting to see many strange things in his travels, but it was still a shock. He took a deep breath and turned to face the crowd. A girl with wild red hair stepped out from the crowd defiantly, followed by a smaller boy.  
  
"Who are you?" she demanded, slapping her hand with a large pointed stick. Upon closer inspection, Gomez saw that all of the children carried weapons; most had sharpened wooden sticks, but a few of the older ones were clutching heavy rifles awkwardly.  
  
All that he could do was tell them the truth, and when he spoke of his mission, the children seemed to relax and accept it. When he asked for information, they were all eager to share, the children speaking with anger in their voices and hatred in their eyes, as they described the filthy lying girl and her evil companion, and the strange woman who had come through in search of them a while after they themselves had last been seen. Their tales, though clearly majorly made up of fiction, made Father Gomez feel better about his task, as he convinced himself that the girl he would kill was a nasty child as well as a threat to humanity. They also contained valuable information on the whereabouts of the temptress, the one he was really seeking.  
  
But he found it hard to concentrate on their enthusiastic tales, as while they were speaking, an odd sensation came over him. He suddenly felt cold, very cold, and Leptaria shivered in his breast pocket. He saw, or thought he saw, something moving behind the crowd of children, and knew what it must be. It looked like a creature made of shadow, a thing of pure evil. He clutched his daemon tightly and watched in horror as the Specter floated through the crowd of children. They took no notice; save for the older ones who shivered a little and looked confused. Then it was gone, and the group continued talking.  
  
"Thank you so much," he told them finally. There was no time for rescuing today; they looked well-fed. Their stories were more and more becoming elaborate lies, and they were none too good at lying, so it was clear he had drained them of all their useful information. "God bless you," he added, walking down the street with a new bounce in his step. 


End file.
